Time
by Obsessive Compulsive Fangirl
Summary: Artefacts are uncovered leading to the discovery of the legendary Camelot. During a visit to the Camelot exhibition at the Natural History Museum, Isla Martin ends up somewhere she never imagined she would. In a land of myth and a time of magic...
1. Author's Note

**A/N: Hello, long time no see! Welcome to the first and only author's note until the very end of this story (unless something drastic should happen). If you want to just skip to the story, instead of reading this absolutely massive chunk of bold text then please skip to the next chapter.**

 **I just wanted to explain myself and what is happening going forward with this rewrite.** _ **Yes**_ **, this is a rewrite and continuation of my 2011 fanfiction "A Future in the Past", and** _ **yes**_ **I have decided to change the name. I fell out of love with writing. I had been in a bad place for a long time and I was completely dissatisfied with everything I was doing. There was no drive in my life for** _ **years**_ **but, although I have the most awful track record for writing fanfiction, I feel like I'm finally getting somewhere now.**

 **I have a little girl now; she's only five months old, but I feel like I need to start and finish things. I need to quit quitting things when life gets hard because I don't want to pass that on to her. I need her to do better than I have. And I feel like this might be a good place to start. If I can start with something like this fanfiction and finish it, then I might have the confidence to finish a lot of other things in my life. I might get some actual form of work ethic instead of going through the motions and letting things just happen to me, and that might be a good example to set to my daughter.**

 **So I'm keeping the plot the same as AFitP, but I'm changing the name of the main protagonist (she was a self insert) and fleshing her out, so-to-speak, to make her a bigger and better character. I'm going to drag the story out and change the point of view so it has more than a 2-dimensional plot with actual solid characters and doesn't look like it was written by a 14y/o with no knowledge of the show she was writing about. UK Netflix finally brought back Merlin so I'm watching it all properly this time, in order, which gave me more inspiration to write this again. I was originally going to continue and edit AFitP and post new chapters but I want to keep it the way it is and just completely retcon it as I want to change so much of it.**

 **I appreciate the support if you've journeyed over from the original because of my last published note, I hope I do you proud and there are no hard feelings if you don't fancy following this story. I completely understand. Almost 7 years have passed since the last time I updated and it's probably going to be drastically different in tone.**

 **If you've** _ **just**_ **found me today, please DON'T take my track record with uploading into consideration. Like I've explained before, I was in a horrible place and I'm begging myself to do better this time.**

 **The main thing I'm going to need from you, whether you're an old reader or a new one, is support. I have a constant need for validation, I'm sorry. I'm begging you (lame, I know), if you like this or have any kind of constructive criticism for this story, please leave a review. It would really help spur me on to complete this.**

 **Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.**

 **Beth.**


	2. ONE

When Pamela Chastain and her team had discovered the location of what was highly suspected to be the remains of artefacts from the Arthurian legends of Camelot, it came to be known as one of the most significant finds in history. It was in the news for months, and it seemed that at least once a week they'd discovered something new from within the previously hidden caverns in Somerset.

Grave diggers had discovered them by accident whilst they dug the first grave on a new plot of land recently bought by a small church when their own graveyard had reached capacity. It seemed something had been there before. Dr. Chastain and her crew had been called out immediately and the excavation began with no time to lose. It was months before they were finished clearing everything out to be taken away for research.

The church, who's previously dwindling congregation had taken a rather large leap in numbers since the discovery, had very generously donated everything to the Natural History Museum in London. And after years of delicate inspection and research, they finally started making their way towards the newly opened Camelot exhibit. It's here we begin our story.

Isla Martin, age 21, was seriously regretting getting herself into serious amounts of debt studying for a degree in Ancient History and Latin. It had been a serious exercise of her patience to wait it out and finish the course so she could just hurry up and graduate, get a job and just get on with life. The lecturer had forcibly put her name down on the list to go to the exhibit because she thought it might help renew the spark she once had at the very start of the degree, but University was _hard_ and it was all she could do to show up at all to class. She had felt, since around halfway through her first year, an indescribable pressure that had seemingly come from nothing at all.

It was hard to get up in the mornings. Even harder to crawl out of bed and slide onto the train she needed to get to be on time for her first lecture every morning. Even harder to eat. To shower. To force herself to sleep at night so she had a fighting chance at hearing her alarm the next morning and repeat the cycle all over again. But she felt she needed to do it all anyway, because God forbid she let her parents down. They were the only reason she was still in University; the overwhelming need to prove herself to them and become successful.

The only reason she even came on this trip was because her lecturer had threatened to fail her if she didn't show up. She'd set ten alarms for the day they had set off just so she wouldn't cock it all up and miss the bus they'd hired. And to make matters worse, she couldn't understand a single thing the audio tour was saying. It felt like a wasted journey.

She was familiar with the general lore of the Arthurian legends, of course; boy pulls sword from stone, becomes the king of Camelot, has a great wizard named Merlin to guide him through the troublesome trials of monarchy. _That's_ what Isla knew, _that's_ the story she was fed as a kid. But she was finding it hard to keep up with all of the new information the audio tour was throwing at her. It didn't match the legends at all. Arthur pulled no sword from a stone, apparently. No, rather, the famous Excalibur was forged in a regular blacksmith's workshop as is evident by the sigil on the hilt of the sword that is also featured on a lot of the other swords found in the darkest parts of the cavern.

Each time Isla pressed the button to hear David Tennant narrate the next section of the exhibit, she found herself becoming more and more disenchanted with it all. This was in no way reigniting her passion for her degree, but drowning it instead. It was all so different! And of course she expected it to be, but she couldn't help but feel disappointed with it all.

Obviously magic wasn't real, and such things that happened in the legends would obviously have been exaggerated throughout the many years since it all happened, but a tiny part of Isla wished it were. To be able to change her whole life into something more, just the thought of that was so appealing to her.

Sat in the centre of the room in a glass display box sat a large book, which remained in fantastic shape for something over 1,000 years old. It felt like she was drawn to it, though she knew that was a crazy thought. Curious, she pressed the button on the tour device to find out just what it was that was appealing to her.

"Here lies the book of magic. Said to belong to Merlin Emrys, the famed would-be sorcerer of the legends of Camelot, this book stunned the archaeologists who examined it. It's condition is said to be similar to books from the earlier period of the Victorian era, though we can see from the runes and certain writings inside that it is in fact much older, dating back to the…"

She took her headphones off to concentrate on the pages the book lay open on. The text was worn, but you could still make out the words of an ancient language quite clearly. It resembled Latin, a language she was familiar with given she was studying it at a University level, but she was damned if she could understand what it was saying. Just as she was leaning closer towards the glass, she noticed a figure had crept up behind her. Isla leapt up, tugging her hood down from her head as the person spun her around by her shoulder.

"You know, they say Merlin was really only an alchemist and not the wizard people made him out to be over the years? Loved hearing that bit, found it really fascinating," It was Jacob Kingly, the windbag who made it his scholastic life's work to ruin everything Isla found the slightest bit interesting and completely discredit any work or theories she came up with.

Isla turned on her heels back towards the book encased in glass with a furrowed brow as she pulled her shoulder out of Jacob's grip. "Yeah, I hadn't quite gotten to that bit yet, thanks. I'm sure it was really amazing to hear though," Leaning over to inspect the book again she noticed Jacob still standing behind her, just as he grabbed her shoulder again to pull her upright and facing him again.

"Hey, get your hand off of me," she yanked her shoulder from his grip yet again, feeling disgusted and angry at him for even thinking that it was okay to treat someone like that. "Touch me like that again and you'll be picking your teeth up with broken arms. Is there a reason you're standing behind me like a common stalker or are you just bored?"

Jacob raised his hands in surrender as he took a step back, a look of mock-innocence on his face, "Hey, Martin, I was just coming by to see if you were coming with the rest of us to grab something to eat. Dr. Khosa called lunch for an hour before we're supposed to meet with the archaeologists who found the artefacts. You coming with or what?"

"No, I think I'll sit this one out, thanks. You can all sit around and make me the butt of all your jokes while I'm not around, I'm sure you don't need me there this time," Isla replied coldly.

Jacob scoffed and shook his head in indignation. "Y'know it isn't my fault you have no sense of humour; everyone else found those jokes hilarious. It was just a bit of banter between friends two years ago and you're still mad about it," He shrugged as he started to leave, "The rest of us have been trying to make you feel like a part of the class, and you're so ungrateful. It's just you and you alone on the outside, refusing all help. Just fucking forget it, I'm done, we're all done," he threw his hands up and retreated, shaking his head as he went.

Isla sighed and mumbled a quiet, "You and me both, dude." as she turned her head back towards the book once more. She noticed the room had become quiet as well, most of the visitors having filtered out, which made sense as most of the visitors were from her University trip. She was determined to make out what it was the writing on the pages said, so she took it upon herself to use the brain she was born with and apply the lessons of phonetics she was taught in nursery school; sounding out each word as if she was learning how to read all over again. It puzzled her why she was even doing this - it wasn't as if saying the words (and probably mispronouncing most of them) was going to help her understand what it meant.

With each and every word she spoke, a seed of pain grew from the pit of her stomach. That tingling feeling of nausea you get behind your nose as your head becomes foggy, your vision blurs with black edges, and you feel like you could fry an egg on your forehead as your temperature rises and you break a sweat: it all took over Isla's body as she continued to read. Eventually her body forced her to stop, making her gag on the empty stomach, the black edges taking over her sight as she collapsed to the floor.

The last thing she thought: _I really ought to take care of myself a bit more._

* * *

She woke to a cold breeze.

 _How did I make it outside?_

Someone must have found her and brought her out to get some fresh air. No, wait, hang on. She was still lying down! How was that? And it felt considerably more comfortable, if a bit prickly, than the hard marble flooring of the exhibit room or the concrete of a pavement outside. Perhaps they'd put her on the green between the Natural and Science museum buildings. That made sense, right?

But who would do that and just leave her there for all of passing London to see? Oh, it had to be Jacob, right? That pretentious twat would do everything to make her look like a fool. When she got her hands on him she would wring his scrawny neck until he was blue in the face.

Wait - there was that breeze again. And she felt it, uh, all over? It definitely seemed that way, anyway, as she could feel the goosebumps rise across her body. Had that sick fuck stripped her down? Was she even at the museum anymore? She couldn't hear the traffic outside it, or any passers-by either for that matter. The smell seemed authentic to London anyway. She'd recognise that smell anywhere - the faint stench of sewage in the air.

It would be so much handier if she could just open her eyes and see for herself. It was like being trapped in a coma; she couldn't move for anything, the only thing making any motion was her chest rising and falling as she breathed. Was that-? Yes it was! Voices in the distance, moving towards her.

 _Thank God. Now just wake up, Isla. Move or something. Get some help!_ Nothing. She had willed her body as hard as she could but nothing was happening, it was making no difference. _I'm so fucking useless, God damnit._

"...And after you've finished with that, my boots need polishing and you need to draw me a hot bath and press my clothes in preparation for tonight's feast of Beltane. Did you get that?" They'd gotten close enough to hear, which meant they were close enough to see her, right? They just had to look to their left and they'd see her.

"Yes, sire; stables, boots, bath and clothes. In that order," They sounded young, around Isla's age maybe, though one was clearly the boss of the other. Both presumably male. It also sounded like, though her ears may have been deceiving her, they were on horses? A distinct sound Isla had heard maybe once or twice early on in her life when her mother decided she wanted to be around her. The hooves of a horse padding across the dirt in a circle while tied to a big metal ring at some country fair she'd been taken to to make up for all of the weeks her mother had left her waiting for her in her father's apartment. Though those memories are maybe something to pack away again and save for a rainy therapy appointment.

She was dragged out of her thoughts by the first voice piping up again, considerably closer than it had been before. "Do keep up, you idiot," No, no no no no no, was he passing her?

 _Balls! Please, wait! Come back - don't leave me here! Damnit, Isla, just fucking make a noise or something!_

"I am trying but my horse is struggling with the weight of all this stuff you've made us carry. If you could just slow d- Bugger, there goes a pot," Thank God the second voice was still behind her, she still had a chance.

There was a rustling as something rolled towards her through the grass, and one of what she suspected to be a horse had stopped. The sound of someone dismounting and coming towards her made her anxious. Would he see her?

"Don't worry, I'll get it - oh no really I insist - yes, I'm quite sure, this is what I love about my job - thank you so much, sire, for this amazing opportunity" The second voice argued with himself as he approached Isla's still body, feet crunching the ground with every step he took. Isla could hear the sound of his hand grabbing the pot, the unmistakable noise of skin on dry clay, and her thoughts stalled as the figure seemed to turn on his heels and return the other way.

 _Thud._

The pot dropped to the floor again as the second voice yelled for his friend, " _Arthur!_ Quickly, here! Now!" The figure dropped to his knees and grabbed Isla's face, inspecting it for any sign of injury. Finding none, his efforts travelled further as he checked her neck and wrists for a pulse, a faint one present.

The sound of hooves on dirt again as the first voice came to join the second, though not as quickly as Isla would have liked. "What is it that requires my attention so urgently, M- Good God. Who is that?" The first man dismounted his horse and approached Isla too, the sound of metal clinking as he did.

"Your guess is as good as mine. She's alive but unresponsive, there's a pulse but I can't do anything to wake her. We need to get her to Gaius as soon as possible," She heard the second figure retreat to his horse and return just as quickly, a warmth following his arrival as he placed a blanket over her bare body, the material rough to the touch. It made Isla's skin crawl at the feel of it, though she was grateful for the heat and cover it provided.

"Yes, I agree. I'll grab her and race ahead, you catch up as soon as you can. I'll fill Gaius in on the details as soon as I arrive."

Isla felt strong arms lift her and cradle her as she was carried with ease to a horse and plonked horizontally across it. The horse's rider joined her soon after, taking off as soon as he mounted. She didn't know if it was the speed of the horse or the fact her head was upside down, but the buzzing feeling in her head returned as Isla fainted once more. She could only hope she was being rescued by people with good intentions as she rode off to wherever it was she was being taken.


End file.
